


So Much Ado

by RushingHeadlong



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Cats, Early Queen (Band), Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Reader Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:41:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27970979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RushingHeadlong/pseuds/RushingHeadlong
Summary: Freddie wants to buy a cat, but some things are more important than that.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/You
Kudos: 6





	So Much Ado

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from tumblr (@RushingHeadlong).
> 
> As with all my Freddie/Reader fics, this is a **male reader insert** character (in this case, specifically a trans male reader) not a female reader. That's made clear in the fic, but I'm reiterating it here in case you missed the M/M tag.
> 
> Original Notes: Written for a request for more Freddie x trans-m!Reader fic. I accidentally made this slightly more H/C than I intended, but I think it’s still pretty sweet overall.
> 
> Also, I have no idea what binding options were like in the early 70s and I don’t care enough to research it. I’m assuming that at the very least medical/athletic compression shirts would have existed, so that’s what “binder” is referring to in this fic.

There’s something about Freddie that makes you always want to say “yes” to him. He has a way of making every plan sound like the best idea in the world, every whim seem like the grandest adventure, and you can honestly say that you’ve made some of your best memories when you’ve followed Freddie on some last-minute outing to check out some chic attraction that he’s only heard about in passing.

Sometimes, though… sometimes you wish you were better at telling him “no”. And despite your best intentions, tonight is shaping up to be one of those nights.

Freddie had an unexpectedly profitable day in the Kensington Market stall, and wanted to celebrate by taking you out to dinner. You should have told him that you weren’t in the mood, too dysphoric because your only binder had finally bit the dust and too anxious about the bills that were piling up to feel comfortable replacing it, let alone want to spend money on fancy food. But Freddie had looked so _excited_ at the prospect of being able to treat you that you told yourself it would be alright. So you pushed down your feelings, bound your chest with bandages despite knowing better, and followed him out the door.

Now, with your stomach uncomfortably full and still doing anxious flips, you just want to go _home_. You’re nauseous, and your ribs ache from the too-tight bandages, and any small amount of enjoyment you might have had at the beginning of the evening is rapidly dwindling away.

“Oh, darling, _look_!” Freddie says suddenly, and pulls you over to a storefront. “Kittens!”

Sure enough, there’s a litter of tiny kittens in the front window of the pet store. They’re small enough that they can only be a few months old, probably just old enough for them to be adopted out. They’re a motley mix of colors and as you watch them tumble and play-fight with each other you can’t help but smile down at them.

“Aren’t they just precious?” Freddie says, pressing close to the glass.

“They are pretty cute,” you agree. You lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder, and he smiles at you briefly before going back to cooing over the kittens. You don’t mind, though; the kittens _are_ adorable, and they’re a welcome distraction from the worries that have been troubling you for most of the night.

Then Freddie gasps and turns around, dislodging you in the process. You stumble at the sudden movement and he catches you by your upper arms, practically vibrating with excitement as he says, “We should get one, love!”

Your stomach sinks and you ask, even though you already know the answer, “Get one what?”

“A cat, of course!” Freddie says. “Look at that little calico back in the corner there, wouldn’t she just be _perfect_ for us?”

You hate saying “no” to Freddie… but sometimes, even you have to put your foot down.

“We can’t get a cat, Fred,” you tell him.

Freddie pouts at you. “And why not?”

“Because you need _money_ to pay for a cat,” you say. “And that’s a bit in short supply for us, these days.”

“I have plenty leftover from tonight to buy a cat,” Freddie says, and there’s a stubborn note in his voice now that tells you that he won’t let this go that easily.

You really don’t want to fight with Freddie about this but your own patience is worn thin by your foul mood and you can’t stop yourself from snapping, “ _No_ , Freddie. Even if you can afford to buy one, how are you going to afford vet bills and food and everything else that comes along with it?”

“Oh stop it, cat food isn’t that expensive! We can make it work,” Freddie says, dismissive.

You brush Freddie’s hands off your shoulders, needing to put some distance between the two of you. “You mean _I_ can make it work, since last I checked you don’t give a toss about our finances!”

Freddie bristles, both at your comment and your physical rejection. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that _I’m_ the one who handles the bills and I _know_ we cannot afford to take care of a cat!” You’re not quite shouting at Freddie, but it is a very near thing. “For god’s sake, Fred, I can’t even find the money to replace my binder, but you expect me to rearrange our budget to pay for cat food and litter every month?”

All of Freddie’s hot-headed passion fades away in the blink of an eye. “What happened to your old binder? And…” He gives you a quick once-over, and a look of suspicion crosses his face. “Darling, what are you binding with now?”

It’s too easy for you and Freddie to wind each other up, but the flip side of that is that once one of you backs down the other usually does as well. This time is no exception, and as your frustration fades as quickly as it came on you’re left feeling tired and too-exposed under Freddie’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Can we just go home?” you ask quietly, instead of answering Freddie’s question. You don’t need to answer; Freddie isn’t an idiot, and he knows what you would resort to doing to alleviate your dysphoria under these circumstances.

Freddie opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, and studies you for a second longer before finally saying, “Of course, darling. Let’s go then.”

You keep a small distance between you and Freddie as you set off, and you have to resist the urge to wrap your arms around yourself, as if you can make a physical barrier between your vulnerabilities and the rest of the world. After several minutes of walking in silence, Freddie asks, “Did you even want to come out with me tonight?”

You shrug, and don’t look at him as you say, “I don’t know. I didn’t _not_ want to, but…” But you knew your dysphoria and anxiety were going to make things difficult, and you know you should have said no.

Freddie sighs, and stops you with a gentle touch to your arm. You finally look over at him and he smiles, a little sad, and tells you, “Dear, if you were in a mood we could have stayed in. You know I love to spoil my boy, but not if it’ll make you uncomfortable.”

You take a small half-step towards Freddie, and that’s all the permission he needs to close the distance between the two of you and wrap an arm around your shoulders. You lean into him and let some of the tension bleed out of your frame. “I know. But you were excited, and I thought I’d be alright.”

Freddie presses a kiss to the top of your head and doesn’t respond, but it’s clear that your answer got under his skin because when you finally do get home he seems determined to take care of you. He draws a hot bath, fills the tub enough bubbles that it’s practically overflowing, and joins you in it, guiding you to sit between his legs so he can wash your hair and massage your scalp. The hot water feels _wonderful_ on your aching chest, and by the time Freddie helps you out of the tub you’re practically falling asleep on your feet.

So he bundles you into your favorite pair of soft pajamas and even though it’s still early (at least compared to the hours Freddie usually keeps) he climbs into bed with you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing soft kisses along your neck. “I love you so much, darling,” he murmurs against your skin. “I only ever want you to be happy.”

Your chest feels warm with affection and even though you’re already half asleep you mumble a soft, “I love you too,” back to Freddie.

The next morning, you wake up alone in bed. It’s Saturday, and still early enough that you’re surprised to find Freddie awake already, but even more surprised to find that he’s not anywhere to be found in your flat… and, if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re a little upset at his absence. Although last night ended on a far better note than it could have, you would have liked to discuss the cat situation again with Freddie when both of you were a little more level-headed instead of leaving it unresolved.

Still, nothing to be done about it until Freddie gets home and since you can only assume that he’s down at the market, god knows when that will be.

You’re in a slightly better mood than you were yesterday but you still feel, well, _fragile_ , like one wrong move will be enough to set you off again. You ignore the bills sitting on the counter that need to be paid, and instead spend the day on the couch, wearing an oversized sweater over your pajamas, with one of Freddie’s records playing quietly in the background while you lose yourself in one of your favorite books.

By the time dinner rolls around and Freddie isn’t home you’re starting to get antsy, but you assume that he’s is either working late or went out for drinks with Roger. By the time it gets to be nightfall you’re a bit worried, but it’s not unheard of for Freddie to crash at someone else’s place especially if he’s been drinking. Still, it takes you a while to fall asleep alone and when you wake up early the following morning you don’t feel rested at all.

The other side of the bed is empty and you sigh, hoping that even if Freddie was drinking last night he’ll manage to wander home sooner rather than later.

You throw on the same sweater as yesterday and shuffle out of the bedroom, making a beeline for the kitchen to put on the kettle. It isn’t until you’ve made yourself a cup of tea and you head into the living room, thinking that maybe you can nap for a bit on the couch, that you realize you’re not actually alone in the flat.

Freddie is asleep on the couch, surrounded by papers, as if he had dozed off in the middle of working on something. It’s not the first time you’ve found him passed out after having lost track of time figuring out some new song, and you smile fondly at him as you set down your cup of tea and start gathering up the pages so they don’t get ruined. You stack them neatly on the coffee table, next to a small package wrapped in newsprint, and pull a blanket off the back of the couch to cover Freddie.

He finally stirs at that, blinking blearily a few times before smiling up at you. There’s so much love in his eyes that it makes your heart melt. “Hello, my love,” he murmurs. “What time is it?”

“Still early,” you tell him softly. “Go back to sleep.”

“Mm, why would I do that when I can stay awake with you instead?” he asks, and despite your laughing protests he levers himself upright on the couch. He yawns widely and shakes his head, as if trying to physically clear out the last of his exhaustion, and gently grabs your hips to pull you down onto his lap. “I missed you yesterday. Sorry for staying out late.”

You kiss him gently, and he’s still just sleepy enough that he’s lazy in returning the kiss, lips soft and lax under yours. “Nothing to apologize for,” you say when you pull away. “When did you get back? I didn’t hear you come in.”

“After midnight,” Freddie says. His hands have drifted under your sweater to tease at your skin, but they don’t drift any higher or lower than your waist and it’s clear he’s simply looking for contact, not trying to start anything more. “But I kept working for a while after that.”

“New song?”

To your surprise, Freddie shakes his head. “No. A surprise for you. That’s why I was out all day, I had to talk to Rog and then he told me to go talk to Brian and I had to have Deacy help me figure it all out-”

“Slow down, Freddie,” you say with a laugh. “What’s this all about?”

“I told you, a surprise for you,” Freddie says with a wide smile. He shifts you off his lap, so you’re sitting next to him on the couch instead, and grabs the stack of papers that you had set aside before. “Here, take a look at this, lovie.”

You take the papers from him and riffle through them. They’re covered with numbers rather than chords, and it takes you a moment to realize that you’re looking at a budget mock-up and not a new song. But with the papers seemingly out of order and different parts crossed out and revised, you can’t quite figure out what it’s a budget _for_.

Freddie starts talking while you’re still looking through the papers, before you can even ask him any of the thousand questions that are on your mind. “I know I’m not good with this-” Freddie gestures at the pile of papers in front of you. “All this money stuff, tracking bills and balancing a checkbook and whatnot. And I know my income is a bit, well, unpredictable at times, which has to make it harder for you to handle things. But I wanted to show you that I _do_ take this seriously, even if Deacy had to help me figure it all out. So I went to Rog and he helped me figure out an estimate for what the stall actually brings in, and then… Well, then I went to Brian to talk about cats.”

You finally look up at Freddie, your mouth dropping open in a small “o” of surprise. You know the cat situation had been left unresolved, but you weren’t expecting Freddie to come back with _this_.

Freddie bites his lip, and he looks nervous now as he explains, “Brian helped me figure out what it would actually cost to have a cat. And he told me about some local shelters where they take care of all the veterinary things before they’re adopted out, so we wouldn’t need to worry about paying for that separately. And I think we _can_ afford to get a cat, darling. But only if you want one too.”

You smile at Freddie and set the papers down, reaching out for Freddie’s hand. He laces his fingers with yours and offers you a soft smile in return. “I would love a cat,” you tell him. “I probably would have said yes anyway, and figured this all out on my own, if the subject had come up when I was in a better mood.”

“I suspected as much,” Freddie admits. “But at least now you _don’t_ have to take care of the budgeting. It’s all been dealt with for you already.”

You kiss Freddie again and this time he kisses you back, reaching up to gently cup your face, his thumb stroking softly over your cheekbone. “You’re amazing, Freddie Mercury,” you whisper against his mouth. “And I love you so much.”

You can feel Freddie’s answering smile as he says, “We’re _both_ amazing, my dear.”

You laugh, and give him one last quick peck, before pulling away to ask, “So. Are we going cat shopping today, then?”

“Ah… Well, unfortunately we don’t _quite_ have the money to adopt a cat right now,” Freddie admits.

He looks a bit embarrassed and you don’t want to upset him by pressing the issue, but considering he was insisting that he had enough money when you were looking at the kittens… “I thought you still had some left over after our date night?”

“I did, but I spent it yesterday,” Freddie says. He grabs the mysterious wrapped package off the table and thrusts it into your hands. “Open it up, dear, it’s the second part of the surprise.”

“Freddie, you didn’t have to…” you start to protest, but your sentence trails off as you tear open the package and a brand-new binder comes tumbling out.

“I hope it’s the right size,” Freddie tells you, as you stare down at the binder in shock. “I’m sure we can exchange it if we have to.”

You shake your head, and it takes a second for you to find your voice again. “It’s perfect,” you say, a little choked up by the gesture. “Fred, you shouldn’t have, that was your money and you wanted a cat-”

“Some things are more important,” Freddie interrupts, his voice gentle but firm, and leaving no room for you to argue with him. “ _This_ is more important, darling. We can get a cat at any point, but I _never_ want you to be as uncomfortable as you were the other night ever again.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, and wipes away a few tears that you hadn’t even realized had started to fall. “I love you, darling,” he tells you. “Give me a few more days down at the market and I’ll have enough money again to adopt a cat, and in the meantime I’ll be happy enough knowing that my boyfriend isn’t hurting himself to feel comfortable in his own skin.”

You shudder at the sincerity in Freddie’s words and lean against him, pressing a kiss against the crook of his neck before letting your eyes slip shut with a small sigh. “I love you,” you tell him again, because you don’t have the words to say everything else you want to say: that Freddie is the light of your life, the best thing that’s ever happened to you, your rock and your home on days when you barely know who you are anymore.

Freddie doesn’t just accept you, he _cherishes_ you in a way that makes your chest ache with affection, and he shows it to you in a thousand small ways every day that you’re with him. But this… this is something else altogether.

“And I _adore_ you, my love,” Freddie says. You feel him kiss the top of your head and you smile, letting your eyes stayed closed as Freddie settles back against the couch with a sigh of his own.

Neither of you say anything else but the silence is comforting, a familiar warmth between the two of you. It lulls Freddie back to sleep first, his breathing evening out and his head dropping down to rest on yours. You crack open one eye, just enough to find the blanket and tug it over both of your laps, before snuggling closer to Freddie. And after a few more minutes, sleep claims you as well.


End file.
